


Compromised

by downjune



Series: With Substance [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Consent Issues, Drugged Sex, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-29 17:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19404988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downjune/pseuds/downjune
Summary: “Oh good, it’s you,” Tony slurs and tumbles out of the chair. “Anyone else, and this would be awkward.”





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newyorktopaloalto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/gifts).



> Hello, Recipient! I've been having Feelings about these two for a while now, so I thought, why not write something a lot hurt-y and a little comfort-y. I hope you like it!
> 
> Story takes place somewhere between Age of Ultron and Civil War.

Natasha finds him in a moldy office, stripped of all his tech—stripped to his underwear and zip-tied to one of those uncomfortable waiting room chairs. She’d managed to get a lock on him from the subcutaneous chip his kidnappers hadn’t found quick enough and had ditched up the road. Sloppy on their part, but she has to give these goons some credit. They managed to drug Tony Stark and get him alone. 

Her tactical team is clearing the building, and she waves back the two agents at the door when she catches the flush staining Tony’s cheeks. She’d thought he was mostly out of it, but the restless way his feet and hands tug at the ties winds the tension in her stomach another few cranks tighter.

“Hey there, champ,” she murmurs, slipping a knife from her utility belt. Kneeling down behind him, she cuts through the zip ties.

“Oh good, it’s you,” Tony slurs and tumbles out of the chair. “Anyone else, and this would be awkward.”

She half-catches him, and he’s flushed hot through his sweat-stained t-shirt, pulse wild in his throat. “I’m flattered,” she grunts, hoisting him upright so he can sit back against the chair legs. When Tony looks at her, his pupils are blown and there’s sweat beading across his forehead.

“Do you know what they dosed me with?” he asks. “You do, don’t you.” 

She freezes for a moment, then draws a careful breath. With a glance down, she can see his boxers tented obscenely and quickly returns her gaze to his, giving him at least the illusion of privacy. “I can make an educated guess,” she answers. “You don’t have a lot of time.”

“Thought they just wanted me to build’em somethin’, like always,” he grumbles. “But they were pissed about Sokovia, so it’s death-by-blueballs, I guess. Revenge is getting weirder, right? That’s not just me?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says and presses to her feet. 

Tony snatches weakly at her pantleg. “Where are you going? You gonna leave me here like this?” He gestures at himself and attempts a smile. She’s seen him drunk and hungover, sick with palladium poisoning, humiliated in defeat, and here, drugged to his eyeballs, she finally cares about his pride. 

“Not going anywhere, just making sure we’re not disturbed.”

He digs his bare heel into the dirty carpet and flexes his fingers against his thigh. She can tell it’s taking everything he has not to reach for himself. “Oh, we’re disturbed, sweetheart, sorry to say.”

“Sit tight,” she tells him and crosses to the door. A smile pinches in the corners of her mouth—twenty minutes from death and he can still joke, a muscle as involuntary as his heartbeat. Put that way, she probably has less time to head this off than she originally calculated.

Outside the office, she finds Reyes and Jacobs where she left them and says, voice low, “He’s been dosed with a neurotoxin that’s confusing his pain receptors. It needs to be evacuated from his system immediately or his heart will stop, so I need you to give him some space and get him some clothes. We’ll be out when it’s safe to transport him. Understood?” Both her agents nod, though Reyes gives her a look that lingers. Not giving herself time to bristle at the woman’s scrutiny, Natasha shuts herself in the room with Tony—where he’s hunched over on hands and knees, face hidden.

“Tony.” She crosses to him and kneels down. 

“It hurts,” he groans. “And I might throw up.”

Grasping his arm, she pulls him up and pushes him over onto his ass. It’s not difficult. Then, with very little ceremony, she swings her leg over his thighs. He props one elbow on the seat of the chair he’d been bound to and looks up at her, sweaty hair in his face. 

“You could kill me with these things.” She jumps when he rests his other hand on her thigh. “Might be easier.”

Giving in, she combs the hair back off his forehead with her fingers. “Too much paperwork,” she says and reaches for the waist of his boxers. “This is quicker.”

“But will you respect me in the morning?” He lifts his hips and winces as the elastic rubs over his dick, his whole body seizing. 

“No more than I do now, I promise,” she answers with a smirk. 

He snorts something close to a laugh and keeps his eyes on her utility belt as she unbuckles it. “I always wondered how you went to the bathroom in the catsuit.”

“Always?” She unzips it all the way, baring her bra and stomach and the front of her panties, though she keeps her arms in the sleeves. 

“You know me—I’m a logistics guy. Seems like a pain in the butt.”

“Not really.” Scooting forward on her knees, she drags the crotch of her underwear out of the way and sinks down onto him, catching him by the back of the neck when he jerks beneath her.

“ _Shit, oh shit_.” He grabs onto her waist and shoves roughly up, a groan turning into a sharp sound of discomfort. “It hurts,” he says again. 

“The first one does,” she tells him. “Your brain doesn’t know what’s pain or pleasure.”

He grabs on harder, fingers sliding inside her suit and digging into her back. His hips work in a jagged, uneven rhythm that draws a gasp from her. He presses his brow to her sternum and says, voice tight, “Speaking from experience?”

She nods, though he’s not looking at her, and is grateful for how the roughness of his grip and the stretch of him inside her keeps her firmly in the present. “All agents develop resistance to a range of toxins as part of training.”

His arms tighten around her, and she shivers at the warm gust of his breath against her skin. “I’m either gonna come in you or have a heart attack,” he warns.

“Let’s go for the first one, yeah?”

His forehead rocks against her chest in a nod, and for just a moment, she feels his mouth on her breast through the cup of her bra, his teeth catching skin before he cries out and jerks in her arms. A rush of warm affection surges through her, unexpected in its intensity, and by reflex she presses a kiss to his hair while he rides out that first, terrible climax.

His fingernails dig against her ribs, and she’s not wet enough for how rough this is, but she’s weirdly proud of them both when Tony goes limp against her and wipes tears on her arm.

“Fuck me, worst sex ever,” he says. Before she can consider taking offense, though, he looks up at her with clear brown eyes, his lashes wet and clumped together. “Thank you.” He blinks and sniffs hard, waiting for her to say something.

“Welcome,” she manages. “But you’re not through it, yet. Sorry, Tony.”

“Please don’t apologize for saving my life,” he says quietly. Intimately. Her instinct is to turn away. He hasn’t looked her in the eye like this, this closely, since he first hired her as his assistant five years ago, when he thought she was Natalie Rushman. When she squirms a little in his lap, he takes a sharp breath, though the pain is absent from his expression. “You know, I assumed you knew what they dosed me with because you’d used it before on somebody else—not the other way around.”

She shrugs and takes the opportunity to break the eye contact. “I never needed to use it. There are easier ways of getting information.”

He huffs. “Don’t I know it.” 

Darting a glance back at him, she finds his gaze haunted. “Yeah, you do.” He might talk a big game, but the way to Tony’s heart has always been easy to find for those who would manipulate it. Even without an arc reactor marking its location. 

He shifts his legs beneath her and hisses. He hasn’t softened even a little. “Hey, so if Banner finds out about this, you think he’ll Hulk-smash me into the next decade?”

Natasha’s mouth pinches at the name, this time without humor. 

“Sorry,” Tony says quickly. “Sorry, that was in poor taste, even for me.” He manages one of his pained smiles. “I’m not exactly myself right now. Or does weird, drugged sex make me more like myself? Either way, not my best.”

Looking him in the eye, she believes his apology. “Even if I needed to consult him on something like this, he’d thank me for saving your life,” she bites out. Tony opens his mouth, probably to apologize again, but Natasha cuts him off. “And he let me know how he felt when he fucked off to outer space without a word. You should be more worried about Pepper. I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me for the Natalie thing. This isn’t going to help.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, and even though she knows it’s impossible, she wonders if some of that toxin has leached into her bloodstream, because the only reason for her to say any of that aloud is— 

No, she’s far too well trained to give up anything involuntarily. The simpler explanation is that she wanted to. 

Tony clears his throat. “Pepper and I are on a break. Actually. Until stuff like this—” He gestures at everything. “—stops happening every other week.” 

“And by ‘this,’ you mean…”

“Violent, kidnappy, Iron Man stuff. Not literally this.” He gestures between them. “I earned my old rep, but I never messed around on her. Not that what we’re doing is messing around, strictly speaking. You know what, let’s get back to the life-saving—it was somehow more pleasant than talking.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.”

The sad part is, she does. When she shifts her hips, Tony’s breath catches on a tight sound and his brow wrinkles. “Still feel wrong?” she asks, trying for clinical.

He nods. “In all the ways.”

Which stings more than it should, but she’s a professional, and they are nothing if not co-workers, so she keeps her expression blank and starts to move in his lap. “The quicker we do this, the quicker it’s out of your system.”

He nods again and rocks up into her. “Am I hurting you?” he asks.

“I’m not fucking you to feel good, Stark,” she snaps. 

He tries for a smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

“No.” 

“Thank god.” He exhales a tight laugh, and she breathes deep, releasing some unasked-for tension from her shoulders. His arms slip more snuggly around her waist, pulling the sleeves of her suit tight against the fronts of her shoulders. “Can I…” He pushes lightly at one sleeve, and she hesitates. “It’ll be quicker,” he says. 

“Yeah,” she answers, shrugging the rest of the way out of the top half before he can help. When it pools around her waist, he runs his hands up her back and kisses her breastbone again, his hips working more steadily. He’s already come once, and it eases the glide of him inside her. 

“You can touch me too,” he mumbles to her skin. “It doesn’t hurt like it did.” When she doesn’t, though, he begs. “Come on, Nat, please.”

With his gaze safely hidden against her chest, she runs her fingers up his spine and into his hair. “Like this?” 

He shivers and nods. “Just like that.”

She rides him at the pace he sets, rocking her hips to meet his until his breath comes short and sharp against her skin again. His body tightens beneath her. He clings to her middle and doesn’t look up, and with her arms resting on his shoulders, she tries to casually check his pulse. It races under her fingers.

“Come on, Stark,” she murmurs. 

“Having a little trouble here,” he grunts back.

Tipping his chin up, she finds a familiar expression clouding his handsome face. On her less generous days, she would scoff at this deeply engrained fear of and belief in his own failure—and how it sits right alongside his enormous ego—but today is a generous day, so she leans down and presses her brow to his. 

He blinks at her, blurrily close, and says, “Should we make out now?”

She nods. “Sure.”

His lips are cracked, and he tastes sour, but Tony keeps the kiss sweet, like he’s tasting her—just a sip, then another. He touches her hair, curls his fingers into it, and doesn’t tug, barely cradling the back of her skull. On a hunch, she slows their pace so that she hangs above him before slipping down. 

“You’re…” His throat bobs in a swallow. “You’re really good at this, and it’s hard to know what to feel, which is making it hard to come,” he confesses. “Sorry. I get why—”

“Let’s not talk about work right now, all right?” She doesn’t particularly want to hear how good a faker she is, not when the distinction between real and fake is as blurry as his face. Not when it’s been blurry for longer than she’d like to admit. She desperately hopes never to find out what she won’t do for her team, or what ‘real’ even means to her.

“You bet, boss,” he huffs. 

“It’s just you and me, Tony,” she says. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She digs her hand into his hair, coarse and thick and graying at the temples, and clenches hard as she sinks down and rises along his dick, holds him steady as he bucks and curses and finally spills into her. 

“Fuck—oh fuck me,” he bites out. “Oh shit.” He makes a surprised sound that turns into a shivering laugh as his body nearly turns inside-out ridding itself of the toxin. He bites the meat of her shoulder and shudders, then doesn’t stop even as he finally begins to soften, his body twitching with aftershocks—or maybe just shock. 

“Tony?”

“I’m all right. I’m good, I think,” he says, but his teeth are chattering and his hands are trembling where they rest at her sides. 

“Okay.” She eases off him with a wince, even as he tries to keep his grip on her waist. With a flick of her wrist, she tugs his boxers up enough to cover him. Slipping her arms back into her suit and zipping up, it’s like nothing happened, though she can feel the evidence to the contrary seeping into her underwear. Lovely. With a shout, she beckons her agents through the door before thinking to straighten her hair. Reyes and Jacobs burst through with a stretcher and a spare uniform piled on it.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, hugging his arms around himself. He’s only looking at her as the agents swarm around him. “I owe you one. I owe you as many as you want.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she says briskly, standing back as they help him into the clothes and onto the stretcher. She is _not_ flustered. Not even a little.

“Natasha.” He does something strange then—holding his hand out for her, expecting her to take it. When she folds her fingers into his grip, he squeezes weakly. 

“Yeah, Tony.”

“Hold me to it, all right? Make sure you call it in.” 

She holds his gaze for another second, just long enough to confuse herself. With a nod, she heads for the door. “Will do. Let’s get you checked out, all right?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [itstartledme](https://itstartledme.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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